Sampey
by deckez
Summary: this story is the birth of the god of healling from the realm I created. born in Toril crossed to another realm after reaching godhood. Description of pain detailled, you've been warned. Please review, I want to know if I should write more stories. Also, english isn't my first language so sorry for any error, if you find any I'll be pleased to correct. short appearance of Gromph
1. Chapter 1 - prologue

The boy was born, after so much trouble in the pregnancy, it had to be a boy. Already two girls, but now a boy. She lifted the baby and closely looked into its eyes, not yet adjusted to the absence of light, they were odd, one eye was blue and the second green, unnatural color for drow eyes.

While she was debating about killing the child or not, the color shifted, they became red, the baby's eyes adjusting into the infrared spectrum. So the new born wasn't blind, nor impaired, only odd. Still he would make a good mage to her small family.

The matron-mother turned toward her eldest daughter and handed her the new born.

"Take care of him, teach him to be a good son, to become a good mage. At any other oddity kill him. Having unmatched eyes and of such color will be enough trouble for us," she said coldly.

* * *

He wasn't really old when he understood that he was different. His sister would beat him up just so he could understand his place in this society, but her word rang empty to him. Why would he have to bow before them? Just because their goddess preferred female? Where would there city go without male? How would they conceive children, then?

But knowing that even if he was a male he still deserved to live wasn't the problem. Every male of the city had the same thought sooner or later, he knew he was different because no matter how much she hurted him, he still loved her. She was his sister, and she was, in a sense, taking car of him. All other male he had met felt hatred or in the least resentment over the mistreatment.

All other he talked with spoke only of revenge and treason. How they could gain more power by slaying their own kin, but he only wanted to make his sister and mother proud, to make them happy.

As a first male born he was to be sent to Sorcere, to learn the use of arcane power, his only focus from there had been to make sure his nimble finger were never injured in the beating his sister imposed on him on regular basis.

With these two hands he could make them proud, he could become an asset to their small house, forty-second house of Menzoberranzan. If he could just become an excellent wizard, since it seemed he couldn't become a good drow.


	2. Chapter 2 - meeting Corellon

"Samal Peyrir, first year student," called the Sorcere master. "You will be assigned to this room for the years to come. This will be the only place you'll find respite, so get us to it," continued the older drow showing him the small sparsely furnished room.

"Yes master Gromph."

The room was small, but it contained all he would need to perfect his study of the art, a desk, a bed and a shelf. He couldn't wait to start learning, he was eager to know more, but mostly to know why. Why no one seemed to think like him, to care about others. Was there a reason to everyone selfishness, or was he somehow ill? His sister had teached him lot of things, she had also mentioned other species, other than the slaves, and there was his main curiosity, were they like him or like all the others?

The first years of his training went smoothly, his teacher were calling him gifted with the art, but still he felt something was missing. Sure they were also giving him the teaching of Lloth, demon queen goddess of chaos, who seemed to be all about hate and treachery. But this wasn't how he felt.

He was 22 years old when he finally stumbled upon it.

In class they were reviewing the enemy of the drow: svirfneblin, duergars and most of all, elf, surface elves. They went trough what their teacher was calling their insane philosophy. But for Samal, all this love, forgiveness and care didn't seem foolish at all. This was what he always had been after.

On that day he started to study his surface cousins in deep. In some old and forgotten book of the library he found what he was looking for, Corellon Larethian, patron deity of the surface elves. This was what divinity should be about, not crazed demon who revelled only in pain and treachery.

Secretly, he started to pray Corellon Larethian every night. He didn't know if his prayer were reaching anyone, or even if Lloth herself could intercept his prayers, or if she would even care if she did, but he felt better with himself by doing so.

Everyday in class he tried to keep a low profile, to listen, to practice but to never stand out.

And everyday when he came back to the loneliness of his room, he would pray.

"Corellon, patron of the elves, I pray to have the strength to protect what is dear to me. To make the other around me happy and peaceful."

The young drow closed his eyes, knowing that what he was asking for was probably not what his brethren wanted. They didn't seem to care about peace, but still he wished they could find it.

He went to his reverie that night, like all the other before, not expecting an answer from a god that was so far from the Underdark. Not expecting the unexpected. But the unexpected happened.

In his dream, he was on the surface, the crescent of the moon visible trough the cloudy sky. He had never been on the surface, but he had read about forest enough to know that this was one. Tall trees were all around him, he could feel the grass under his bare feet, feel the breeze on his skin.

No more ceiling above his head, just the vast emptiness of a sky which knew no limit. No wall he could see, as far as his vision allowed him to see there were trees.

It was an amazing sight, so beautiful and so intimidating. He couldn't understand why his kin were so full of fear and hatred toward the surface.

In his reverie, he could hear music in the distance. He felt drawn by it, felt the urge to see where it came from. The sounds were so marvellous.

Half aware of it, he started off toward the sound. He finally arrived to a clearing, the moon seemed to shine even more in this place. The air still and peaceful. The music so pure and innocent.

There he could see them dancing, surface elves. They were so lovely to his eyes. They were dancing under the ray of the moon, a fire casting moving shadows all around them.

They were not normal elves, he could feel it, he could feel the power emanating from their dance. The young Peyrir was, then, definitive these weren't mortal. The elves gracious movements were just far too fascinating, too mesmerizing to be those of simple mortal.

When he saw the tall elf break off the dancing mass, he instinctively knew who this was. He was awestricken as he watched the androgynous elf walk toward him. He was so gorgeous, more so than anything or anyone Samal had ever seen. His movements were precise and gracious, the long blond hair floating behind him in the still air of the forest's clearing. The fire was playing mesmerizing shadows on his deep blue eyes.

"Corellon," he whispered, amazed.

The divinity looked at him and smiled, it reached to the necklace around its neck and removed it. The disk was carved into a crescent moon, the symbol of Corellon Larethian. The divine being then handed the medallion to Samal, whose blue and green eyes were flickering in the fire light.

The young drow's gaze met the one of its deity, and tears welled in his eyes as he understood that his daily prayer had been heard and therefore answered. He raised his hand and took the necklace from the god's hand, looking down to the symbol now in his small hand, understanding that Corellon Larethian himself was welcoming him to his clergy, but also understanding that this would have to be his secret if he wanted to survive.

Before he could raise his eyes again and take a last look at Arvandor, he woke up from his reverie.

He felt the coldness of metal in his hand and looked at what he was holding: a silver crescent moon medallion. He smiled and thanked the god silently.

The next morning, he hid the holy symbol under his clothing and went to his studies.

This was a part of the art Samal never really liked, offensive spell. They expected the young wizards to cast spells which would hurt or utterly destroy their opponent. But Samal couldn't get himself to casting it. He didn't want to injure anyone…

"The kid is really impressive in casting ability when it comes to transmutation and enchantment. He can cast spells that should be beyond his limited experience," said Gromph to the matron-mother of house Peyrir. "But he can't even master the simplest conjuration or evocation cantrip. He seems to have no interest in necromancy either, for that matter."

"So you are telling me that the child is useless as a mage?" Answered the young matron.

"No," replied the Sorcere master, looking back at the young mage of house Peyrir. "He will prove powerful in the matter of defensive spell, but don't expect him to be a great war mage. His place will be more behind the lines, preparing soldiers for warfare."

The matron eyes narrowed as she looked at her only son. She didn't need a mage unable to strike devastation upon her enemies. She thought again that she should have sacrificed him to Lloth at birth in order to gain more power.

The kid had grown into a fine young man, smooth skin, sticking blue right eye and emerald green left eye, long pure white hair, slim and nimble body. He hadn't grown really tall or strong, he was barely five feet tall, but he had handsome features that would definitely please some higher ranking priestess pretty soon. Maybe she could find some profitable deal with another house with the boy as currency if he proved a useless mage.


	3. Chapter 3 - patrol

He was 33 when came the time of his first patrol. He was to be sent along with another mage, younger than him, a priestess and two fighters of melee-magthere. The priestess was already used to the patrol and was taking the lead of them. They were expected to obey her every command, and Samal was more than happy to oblige.

Over the past years he had done his best to master the arcane art, but never really came close to master the art of offensive spells, so they had sent a second mage with them, to cover for his inability. In the last six years, though, he had honed his clerical ability. The young cleric was able to heal wound probably as well as the priestess in front of him, but knew better than do it. He knew he could, even if never had tried yet, knowing was enough for him, he didn't felt the need to do it, male just didn't get power from Lloth and worship of another deity was sentenced of death.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Asked one of the fighters as he walked up close to the young mage.

Samal looked at the priestess, but felt nothing about her. Though he knew he was in age to feel sexual interest, female just didn't appeal to him. The fighter beside him was, though.

Strongly built, tall and very muscular, he had glowing blood red eyes, something that the blue and green eyed drow had always found appealing to him.

"Probably," he answered softly.

"You know, pretty soon they are going to ask us favour, if you get my meaning. I wouldn't mind her asking me anything," continued the fighter with a smirk.

Knowing of his own abnormal features, Samal didn't expect any of the female to ask for him, and he wasn't about to complain about it. He didn't want to have any more contact with Lloth priestess than absolutely needed. The young priest didn't want them to find about his worshiping of Corellon Larethian.

The stealthy fighter the priestess had sent scouting ahead came back at that moment, cutting off this awkward instant he did not want to face. He had no wish to explain to the strong fighter that his interest laid more with someone like him than with any priestess he would ever cross.

The alarmed look on the scout face startled them.

"Gnome," he said as soon as he arrived. "A good dozen of them, further down the corridor. They are mining adamantine with very few guards watching over them."

"Easy prey then," laughed the priestess. "Samal, prepare your protective spells. We may have a little fun it seems. Get yourself ready."

Samal started casting some defensive spells on his comrades. Some that would ward off some of the damage from blade or hammer, and some other which would enhance their natural resistance to magic.

"It is done, don't expect me to cast offensive spells during the fight. I never really got to master these types of incantations," murmured Samal respectfully.

"Nor are you expected of," sneered the woman. "Gromph have already told me about your… limitation. The reason why we have Hurz'Raen with us. Just stay back and make sure not to get yourself killed. Use your protective ward as you deem necessary."

He nodded and let the others pass before him, then followed from afar, closing the march.

Not much further the drow patrol started to hear the sound of hammer and pick against stone. Just like the drow, the gnomes didn't need any light source, trusting their darkvision to work the mineral vein along the caves wall.

The priestess silently signed them to stop, and started to give strategic direction to the party.

Samal was to stay behind and cover the retreat of any wounded comrade. He mentally prepared the spell that would allow him to invoke a barrier between himself and the deep gnomes.

The younger wizard started to levitate, and hid himself among the stalactite of the ceiling, giving him a better vantage point. The two fighters started creeping along the wall to their right, the priestess also joined in, casting a spell.

Samal waited to hear the sound of his very first battle. He didn't wait for long…

As soon as the priestess finished her casting, a swarm of spider appearing before her, the young wizard, still levitating, used on of his wand to invoke a fireball in the cave ahead.

The screams, which echoed from further in the corridor, made Samal skin crawl. He could hear the cry of pain and the sound of sword clashing. Into all of this tumult he could also hear the priestess laugh, and her praise to her evil goddess.

He silently muttered a prayer to Corellon, asking for forgiveness to be part of this massacre. The young priest felt he should do something, but what could he do that would not mean his own demise. He clenched the symbol hidden under his robe and tried to concentrate on the orders called out by their patrol leader.

"Don't let any escape, chase those who ran off in this tunnel. You," she pointed to Samal, "secure this area with a magical barrier. We don't want any reinforcement to arrive in our back."

"I will, mistress."

The odd-matched eye of the young wizard settled on the carnage that lay in the cave, as he walked in. a good half a score of svirfneblins were laying dead, they didn't have time to set a real defence when the drow attacked them.

Once the priestess and the other males were gone, Samal knelt beside the gnome and started praying again. This time asking for the gnomes soul to be led all the way to their heaven.

On the corner of his eye, he saw a movement, one of the gnomes he first had thought dead was now trying to turn himself up. From were he was, Samal saw that the blast of the fireball had burned most of the miner's face, leaving him completely blind.

In the deepest of his heart, Samal knew what he had to do. Not as a drow, for that would have meant to finish off the dying svirfneblin, but as a follower of Corellon Larethian. This was his first test as a cleric, the first test of his heart, no priest of the elvish god would let an innocent die if something could be done about it.

He slowly and silently walked over to the blinded gnome.

"Don't move, and don't make a noise. They are gone, but will return here shortly," he whispered in the trading language of the Underdark.

"Who are you?" Asked the gnome in return.

"Someone who can help, and who wants to help," said Samal, adding the second part knowing that it was even more important than the fact that en could. "I can heal you, I think, then you can leave this place as fast and as silently as you can."

The young priest had never yet tried to do any spell usually offered by his god, he didn't know if it would work or not. The only test he had done with his clerical ability had been to banish some shadow he had encountered in Sorcere. But he had to try.

Then it felt it, the warmth of his hand, the tingling against his chest where his holy symbol was touching his skin. A low glow emanated form his hands as the healing started. He looked at the gnome eyes as the burned skin healed, becoming grey again, then looked at the color coming back to the gnome's eyes, giving him back his vision.

Grey eyes met green and blue eyes.

"You are drow," said the gnome.

"I am."

"Why?"

"There's no time for any of that. You should leave, now, before they come back."

The gnome raised to his feet then started away, looking to the strange drow over his shoulder, looking at its even stranger eyes.

_Heterochromia_, he thought, _that's rare. Maybe it's a sign he really isn't like the others of his race_.

Samal watched the gnome as he left. A sight of relief left his lip when he saw the form blend with the darkness.

Deep in his heart Samal knew he had done the good thing, he knew that the gods, his gods, were happy with his choice of action.

That night, he dreamt again, dreamt of Arvandor, of the elvish gods dancing under the soft light of the moon.

They stopped their dance and turned toward him, all of them, looking at him. Then they gestured for him to join them, to join their dance.

As he made his first step toward them, the dream ended.

He woke up in his room of Sorcere, staring at the empty walls and at the scrolls pilled upon his desk.

He sighed and went back to his reverie.


	4. Chapter 4 - the raid

Samal was 39 when finally came his chance to go to the surface. He longed to see the moon for many years already, and even the prospect of yet another battle could not dim his bliss.

Soon he could see the trees, the moon, and maybe even the sun. This time for real, not as part of his reverie.

Yes, they were telling them about the dreaded sun, about how it burned everything its ray touched. But if their cousins could survive it, then the drow could too. There had to be a way to stay out and live under the sunlight, no matter what the older drow where saying.

The walk had been long from Menzoberranzan, and their small party was enjoying a well needed rest, eating and making plan before the final walk that would bring them to the surface.

Samal wasn't listening, lost in his thought and in his prayer. He felt teared apart. One part of him wanted to stay out on the surface, to leave the rest of the drow behind him and try to find solace among the surface elves, strong in his believe that Corellon would protect him in his endeavour. But the other side of him, the good child part of him, didn't want to bring shame on his still small and struggling family, didn't want to go against his sister and mother. He still loved them, even with all the mistreatment they had shown him. He prayed for a sign to help him take a decision, to take the good decision, before it was too late. His chance to go back to the surface wouldn't come soon thereafter. Not with his limited skill as a mage. He was lucky already to be allowed in this party in the first place, if he was too leave the surface after the raid, he probably would never see the sky ever again, given he didn't get killed out there.

Gromph had thought it could motivate him in learning more offensive spells to see the arch-nemesis of the drow, to face surface elves in a battle. What the young Sorcere master didn't know was that the young Peyrir waited for just that, but for other forsaken reasons.

After a good night of reverie and another long walk, they reached the surface. The young Peyrir wizard at last got a glimpse of the stars, partly covered by heavy cloud. The slight flicker of the distant stars amazed him. And while all the others were complaining about how bright everything was, at how much it hurted their sensitive eyes, Samal blue and green eyes felt perfectly adapted to the glow of these distant light.

Sadly for him, there was no moon this night and there party wasn't expected to remain on the surface more than one night. A quick raid, than back to the relative safety of the Underdark and of Menzoberranzan. They should not even stay long enough to see the rim of Toril brighten with dawn.

His misfortune only grew tenfold when they spotted the light of a campfire in the distance.

"They are not far, we should get there within an hour. This close to an elvish city, one could guess these are elves on their way back home," explained the scout.

At these words, the priestesses and mages started casting some of their long during defensive spells in case they were to meet some resistance on their way. Samal went along with some transmutation which would give the fighters strength and agility. Keeping his defensive ward for closer to the fight.

Off the drow raiders went, shadows in the night, whispers in the early summer wind.

The drow were glad for the cloud making the night darker, better concealing their presence to the eyes of the elves.

Samal looked at the experienced fighter with interest, they were moving fast and without a sound in the luxurious vegetation of the surface, easily distancing him and the other inexperienced drow, who were struggling with their cloth always getting torn and stuck.

Before Samal even got close enough to get a glance at the elves, the sound of fight erupted from the night.

When he, at last, got to where the raid had started, corpses already covered the mossy ground of the forest. Two of his comrades and a score of sun elf lay bloody and still.

While the other young drow continued their run toward the melee that still echoed from deeper in the woods, Samal stopped cold. Tears in his eyes as he looked at the massacre. How he wanted to see elves, like in his dreams, dancing and smiling… Not like this, visage a mask of agony, pooling blood around their still body that color rapidly deserted.

Not all of them were still, though, one of the elves was still grunting, trying to get back on all four and to reach for his sword.

Once already Samal had done it, once again he could do it. It was the same event than with the gnome, it had worked that time, and it would this time also. Decided, he went strait toward the wounded elf and pushed him on his back, away from its sword. The sun elf didn't oppose much resistance and Samal soon understood why.

The young priest had to fight the urge to move away and throw up when he realised that the elf had been disembowelled, only his hand clasped at the wound stopped its organs to come out. The wound were severe, fatal even, and he suddenly wasn't sure if he could heal it or not, the wound was beyond the power of many high priestess of Lloth, so what about a young priest with barely any experience like himself. But still he had to try, he had to do something.

He went deep into prayer, putting all his focus on the healing process, praying with more fervour than he ever did before. Corellon had to heed his prayer, this was an elf after all, he could not let one of his child die like this, not when there was a chance.

So focuses was Samal that he never heard the call from the scout.

"Retreat, reinforcement has arrived. We are far outnumbered, retreat to the Underdark, it is the priestess call."

"Samal Peyrir, retreat now. We won't be dragging you," called one of the fighters passing close, the same fighter Samal had met on a previous patrol.

"Leave him behind if he doesn't follow, he never have been a real asset anyway. His nervous breakdown will cover our retreat anyway. He will prove useful for once," sneered on of the priestesses.

Though he never heard these words, he heard those whispered by the bloodied lip of the dying elf, the last words the sun elf said before drawing his last breath.

"Sam… Pey…"

Corellon hadn't heard his prayer, or his power and his faith were only too weak to save the life of the innocent elf. He fell back, sitting on his feet, looking to his bloodied hand which had been of no use. He had failed, failed as being a wizard to his family by his inability to injure people and now failed as a priest by not being strong enough to save a single life.

Deep in his thought, he didn't hear the elves surround him, bow drawn and arrow pointed at him.

"Caught in the act," growled one of the elves. "Seize him, he will pay for this slaughter, and no latter than tonight."

"It's not what you think," said the young odd-eyed priest. "I didn't kill him, I was trying to save his life."

They were not listening, the slaughter of their friend had marked them profoundly, the carnage scene had finished the last trace of compassion they could have felt, all they wanted now was revenge. Vengeance on anyone they could easily call guilty, and he was a drow with his hand covered in blood, kneeling before the corpse of their prince.


	5. Chapter 5 - sunrise

The elves tied Samal up, dragged him to a further clearing and went to the task of gathering wood. None of them were listening to whatever he was trying to say, so Samal just sat quietly, trembling with fear and dreadness as he watched the stake being built. Their intention for him were now clear, they would burn him for a crime he hadn't committed.

Still he could not blame them, the scene had been clear enough, the reasoning out of it evident. Why would they listen to the claim of innocence from one whose kin was known for deceit and lie.

Shortly before dawn, the stake was finished and the elves didn't wait a second to take him and drag him onto it. They sat him on the bundle of wood without a word, a few other sun elves watching with grim face. The two elves tied him to the stake and walker off without a look back.

Samal slowly gazed to every elf present in the clearing. The dozen present before him all matched his gaze without even a flinch.

_No anger in those eyes_, thought one of them, _he look at us with somewhat sadness, some kind of acceptance, maybe, but definitely, there is no accusation in those eyes_.

Still these thought didn't stop him from taking the torch handed by one of his men. His brother had been killed by this drow, and nothing would stop him from exerting vengeance.

Samal looked at the torch slowly lighting the stake, he watched the flame creep maddeningly slowly toward his feet. He could not stop the fire progression with spell, for his hands were tied up and he had no access to any spell component. So he did the only thing he could, he started to pray. If he was to die, he didn't want his soul to go to the demonweb pits, Lloth dominion, he prayed for his soul to stay on the surface elf paradise. He prayed to have the time to see the sunrise once before the flames were to devour him completely.

Then the first flames got to his feet, cutting his prayer short.

Samal felt the incredible heat, then the searing pain raced through his leg as they catched afire. He could feel his skin curl off his flesh, leaving his blood boiling and flowing back to his head. He felt his heart beat faster in a futile try to compensate for the blood which had evaporated under the heat. The fire hadn't yet reached his waist, but still he felt the painful heat of his blood in his chest and skull, burning the veins from inside.

No scream of pain came out of his cracking lip.

"Corellon Larethian, forgive them for they didn't know. Forgive them the death of your innocent priest, for I wasn't strong enough to save your child, and so deserve my sentence," he cried as the flames reached his torso and face.

Before the fire clouded his bicoloured yes, he saw the sunrise, the rim of the world taking the color of the flames surrounding him, he saw the golden disk of the solar orb quietly rising in the sky.

The elves were taken aback from the burning drow last words.

"Corellon forgive us if we did err in our judgment," pleaded one.

A slight rain started to pour down, extinguishing the blaze of the stake, just like an answer from the gods themselves. And the elves they all looked at the charred body of the drow, who had claimed to be a follower of their patron deity.

The younger prince walked closer to the corpse and shock almost made him fall off the bundle of cooling logs. Two striking blue and green orbs were looking back at him. The drow eyes, undamaged by the fire, looking straight toward the sun. Then the elf prince noted a shinning silver crescent of moon symbol dangling from its neck.


	6. Chapter 6 - birth of a god

Samal was back once again on the border or Arvandor.

Corellon was there standing in front of him, his arm open, welcoming him.

"You earned your place here," he said softly. "The place his yours to take, a place among us."

Samal smiled painfully, all his body ached even in the after death. He raised a scorched arm, flakes of flesh falling on the process, in a try too touch the deity he had so reverently followed for these many years, and who was now offering him, a useless drow unable to save a life, a place in godhood.

"How will you be called," asked Corellon, smiling. "The name of your mortal being should die with physical form. It will be easier for you to start anew this way."

"What the last person I tried to save called me," Samal said, his voice low and soft. "Before dying he whispered my name, or tried to. Sampey it will be. Samal Peyrir died out there on a blazing stake."

Corellon smiled all the more. "Sampey." He thought for a second, then shaked his head. "It still sound a lot like a drow name, in elvish we could say it as Sôde? If that please you." Seeing the newly born god smile, Corellon added, "Welcome to the god Sôde."

Then, before he could step into Arvandor, Samal felt it, Corellon and all the other gods felt it too. Some kind of a tear in the material of Toril, and beyond this breach loomed another world, a young world.

Samal looked through the breach and felt the absence of gods, there were too few there, none residing in this plane permanently, all just keeping an eye on the young emerging realm.

He looked back at Corellon.

"Here isn't my place, you are many in Arvandor, and the people of this realm are well guarded by the all of you." He stated. "There is another place which would need the full attention of someone, which could benefit better of my presence. I can leave Toril without leaving anyone behind. And I could be protecting the people of this world as no one else seems to be there to do it."

Samal saw the other gods smile back at him and nod. They understood. He wasn't being ungrateful over their gift, but felt he was more needed there than on Toril. None of them could really leave this realm to go fill the gap they all felt emanated from the breach, but they all knew that Sampey could easily go.

With one last glance at Arvandor and at all the elvish gods, with one last glance at Toril, he stepped into the breach of this new world.


End file.
